


The Truth

by DontAsaltSnails



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because I am the worst person alive, Christmas, Death, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Feelings, I dont wanna spoil this, I'm Sorry, Its just sad sheriarty, Kissing, Loneliness, Longing, M/M, Panicking Sherlock, Sheriarty - Freeform, Suicide, Suicide mention, Tears, This Is Sad, Unrequited Love, You Have Been Warned, angsty angst, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontAsaltSnails/pseuds/DontAsaltSnails
Summary: "You wanted the truth, didn't you?""I've decided I don't need the truth."*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas.Please read the tags for trigger warnings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Word count: 1000+  
> Warnings: (woo-whee, here we go) drug abuse, death, mentions of suicide, angst, sad sad shit, Christmas, heavy drug abuse, did I mention angst? And death.
> 
> I wrote this as a THANK YOU to all of my followers on Tumblr and my readers here on AO3!! Thank you so much guys and much love to yah! 

 

It’s Christmas Eve, and Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to remove himself from his chair. He sat there for hours staring off into the distance. Through the day, he had swapped spots from bed, to couch, and now his chair. He slumped there too lazy to dress properly, too lazy to make himself tea, and much too lazy to do anything really. He was bored out of his mind, yet calmed by the silence in the room; with only the tiniest of crackles from the fireplace. Sherlock felt warmed by the fire, and yet so terribly cold inside. Practically numb from the world around him. John was with Mary.. With his family. Molly and Lestrade had decided to attempt dating, Sherlock estimated that the date was already over. Lestrade most likely over drank and poor little Molly had to carry him home. Even Mrs.Hudson was out for the week. Mycroft wasn’t even a subject of thought, really, both Holmes brothers were avoiding each other and their parents. This only left the detective with loneliness freezing him inside. He felt so… He felt so tired.

The detective was alone once again. Sherlock was alone as he always knew he would be. Sure, John and Mary came around and helped with cases, but that seemed so far off from the darkness he saw hurdling towards his future, in his present. Sherlock couldn’t remember a day that didn’t feel like this lately. He was so alone.. “You always seem to think yourself alone, Sherlock.. But I know you’re _wrong_ ,” came the singing tone of a familiar Irishman.

A man supposedly long gone.

“Moriarty,” Sherlock breathed out. “Holmes,” Jim smirked back, “don’t bother asking me how I’m here. I won’t tell you, you wouldn’t want me to anyways,” James purred. Something about Moriarty’s last statement made Sherlock’s insides turn, he felt sick suddenly. The mastermind stood by the door, hands in his pockets looking as pristine as ever. Moriarty looked just as he did back on that day on top of St. Bart’s. It was amazing how he hadn’t changed, but then again neither of them really did. “What do you _want?_ ,” Sherlock spoke in a hushed tone. The spider of a man gave an eerie grin as he walked closer to the now frowning detective. “You wanted the truth, didn’t you?” Sherlock closed his eyes, he tried to ignore the alarms sounding off in his mind. He opened his eyes to see James looming over him now. The man was grinning so wide, his face could split in two. Sherlock couldn’t help the small swirl he felt in his stomach, the jump his heart made, nor the sudden nausea that made his head spin. It was a feeling that he could relate to coming off of a high. “I’ve decided I don’t need the truth.” Holmes muttered weakly, he couldn’t handle honesty, at this point. It’s been five years, _how could anyone?_ “Somebody’s a _liiiiar_ , isn’t he?” Moriarty placed both his hands on the arms of the chair, successfully pinning Sherlock’s arms down. “How about this, Sherly. I want the truth.” His eyes seemed so black in the dim flickering light of the room. “N-no,” Sherlock stuttered, he hated himself for this moment of weakness. No, no. He didn’t want to think about the truth, not anymore, let him live in his lies. Don’t be so cruel, James. Sherlock held in a strangled cry, he couldn’t breakdown, not now, not here, not with James.

Moriarty leaned forward placing a small peck of a kiss onto Sherlock’s pale lips. Holmes closed his eyes, and choked back yet another a sob. He could feel himself crumbling at every second- no, millisecond of this tender moment. Sherlock would never admit the truth, he couldn’t. Jim smiled as he pulled back, brushing his nose against Sherlock’s, speaking barely above a whisper, “it’s okay, Sherlock. I know.. The truth is you love me..” Moriarty’s tone was playful, he ghosted his lips across Sherlock’s pulling away once the detective leaned in. James gave a wicked chuckle, “oh, I like this game, Sherlock-” This time Sherlock kissed first, it was salty from tears and so very needy. He pulled James closer, fingers finding themselves wrapped in black inky hair.. Until he felt it, _wet and cold_ like death. He felt the truth, and he couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Jim grinned against his lips, “the truth is Sherlock, you _loved_ me.. But you’re well, a bit too late.. Because I’m already gone. I’m dead,” Moriarty gave a small nip to Sherlock’s lip and chuckled, “I’m dead, and you missed me. You’ve missed me and you still are.. Oh, Sherlock so weak- Do you know what’s even worse?” Sherlock struggled, no, please no more. He couldn’t handle this anymore. Five years of this, five years, “Moriarty- Please-” Sherlock couldn’t see clearly, vision blurred by tears. James hushed him before placing a set of gentle affectionate kisses along his jawline, “The worst part is, I loved you, too. That’s why it had to end.. Our little game. _You ruined it_ , Sherlock. You _ruined_ me. You made me weak,” he spoke in a playful tone, but once he pulled back, he was pale and dead just like on Bart’s after blowing his own brains out. James looked so cold, so dead, “you _don’t_ love me, Sherlock. You _loved_ me,” he murmured before vanishing in thin sight.

“ **NO. NO.** You can’t be–” Sherlock choked out finally, his fingers that were used to tangle into hair so soft were coated in crimson. “James- James.. I love you- James come back–” Sherlock called after the ghost. No, the hallucination of a man. His hallucination of a brilliant man, his nemesis, Sherlock’s only love. No! The drugs, they stopped- They stopped working, he’s coming down.. His mind ran wild screaming and howling in agonizing pain: _Jim, please, don’t go, not again. **NOT AGAIN.**_

He can’t live without him. He can’t. He needs to see him again. Frantically, Sherlock rummaged through his home in search for the gateways into the dead. “James- James- please- come back,” he murmured to himself as he found more baggies of heroin and other terrible drugs. “I can’t- James I can’t live without you- Ple- Please,” he ripped open one of the plastic bags, the contents spilling everywhere. “No-no,” Sherlock broke down into a trembling fit, crying and broken. He needed Jim, they were one, neither could exist without the other- Sherlock grabbed the other bags, opening them with shaking hands. He used again, and again, and again. Finally, seeing James again, Sherlock cried out to him. He was so beautiful, and it was so cold..

It was three days later that Mrs.Hudson returned from her trip and called John Watson about Sherlock locking himself away in 221B. It was yet another day later that John came by and found his best friend over-dosed on the floor laying beside a pile of his own vomit, with a smile etched onto his pale lifeless face.

Sherlock Holmes had died on Christmas morning, envisioning his fallen angel taking him away from his final problem: staying alive.


End file.
